


dim ages ago

by jurassicqueer (gaybirdkid)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arrancar Hisagi, BAMF Kurosaki Ichigo, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Do-Over, Found Family, Gen, Gin is a Sneaky Bastard, Graphic Description, Ichigo Doesn't Defeat Aizen, Multiple Universes Colliding, No One Understands the Power of the Hogyoku, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Kurosaki Ichigo, Quincy Karin, Quincy Yuzu, Second Chances, Shinigami Grimmjow, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Time Travel Fix-It, Timeline What Timeline, Zanpakutou Materialization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaybirdkid/pseuds/jurassicqueer
Summary: Gin doesn't attempt to kill Aizen when he has the chance, Ichigo doesn't defeat him in Soul Society- and the entire world pays the price. But Gin never stops plotting and planning, and even without anyone to protect Ichigo dogs Aizen's every step. All it takes is the dream to fix everything and the unshakeable resolve of those backed into a corner for things to change.Or: Gin snatches the Hogyoku away from Aizen too late to save their reality, but maybe not a different one.Or: Ichigo gets a second chance to protect everyone he's ever loved and even battered, broken, and twisted into something he doesn't recognize, he won't fail this time.





	1. the same faces, objects, and circumstances-

**Author's Note:**

> ahahahhahahahahahahaha welcome to hell
> 
> this is gonna be a really gory, gross, violent story, and im gonna twist bleach into something a little weird and a little wrong. characters are gonna get moved around and shuffled and im gonna get to play without the control i generally exercise for the works i publish. please heed the tags. if you dont like it, just dip. this is gonna be real mature.
> 
> "We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances- of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if we suddenly remembered it!"  
> -David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

His vision is obscured by red, smeared strands of orange catching in his eyelashes. He blinks and loses focus for a moment. Ichigo reaches for his sword- and feels nothing beneath his questing fingers. A glance tells him his left arm is no longer attached to his body. Blood oozes out of the torn stump, past the rushed tourniquet Gin had tied before disappearing.

Gin.  _ Gin.  _

The thought of him is enough to startle Ichigo out of his haze and he forces himself to focus, to push himself past the strain of staying alive. If he’s here alone- hidden well, too well to be anyone but Gin’s handiwork- then Gin is facing Aizen on his own. Maybe he’s stalling for time so Ichigo can heal, but a pang of hopeless rage from Zangetsu is all he needs to feel: they’re not going to be ready to fight any time soon. His Hollow has been straining too hard, too far in the past months to hold him together. Gin is alone. Gin is alone with the  _ thing _ that had once been Aizen.

He scrabbles for purchase on the rubble surrounding him and hauls himself up. It hurts- hurts too badly, hurts like he’s lost control of his body- and he has to gasp around the blood choking his throat. There’s a hasty bandage job wrapped around his torso, blood soaked gauze plastered against his right side. Ichigo remembers Aizen stabbed him, but- but he’s stabbed him before. Was it Gin, this time? Using Ichigo’s body to conceal his blade like they’ve done hundreds of times?

He manages to brace his arm enough to fold his legs under him. Even just this is almost too painful to endure- how is he going to fight?

There’s a whisper of disturbed rubble, a hitched breath, and Gin appears from around a collapsed wall. He’s bloody and wavering on his feet, and it only takes a moment for Ichigo to notice the lack of his right arm. It seems they almost match, now. 

Gin falls to his knees before him. His clothes, a ragged combination of his old uniform and Ichigo’s Bankai coat, are saturated in blood. Ichigo can see where his remaining arm is holding his intestines inside his abdomen. He stares at Gin’s gaunt face and readies himself for the despair he’s sure to find there- they’re both too injured to even survive, let alone fight- but there’s nothing of the sort on his face. He meets Ichigo’s eyes and  _ smiles.  _ Carefully, he pulls his hand away from his body and slowly unfurls his bony fingers.

And there, cradled in his blood stained palm, is the Hogyoku.

Ichigo can’t believe it for a moment. He wonders if he’s hallucinating, if Aizen’s Zanpakutou somehow resurrected, if all of this is a dream- but Gin slowly shakes his head as if knowing what he’s thinking, hair shifting across his dirty skin.

“Heal yourself-” Ichigo rasps, voice gone ragged ever since Aizen cut his head off back in Hueco Mundo. He can feel something strange and familiar warring in his chest- something that feels like hope, that feels like a chance- but Gin doesn’t move.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to do something rather drastic.” Gin says, his eyes flicking open to meet Ichigo’s. He shifts forward too fast, too fast for someone who’s lost an arm and is bleeding out between his fingers, and slams an elbow into Ichigo’s chest wound. He goes down without a sound.

 

Consciousness returns quickly, his vision spotting and shaking as Zangetsu spits with fury. He’s screaming about betrayal, about Gin turning on them, but Ichigo opens his eyes to Gin carefully running his fingers through Ichigo’s long hair. He looks haggard. He looks like he’s dying, his slim figure reduced to skin tight over bone and scarred muscle. Gin doesn’t have a Hollow willing to use his own limbs to heal his- he’s never getting that arm back. He’s probably going to die here.

When Gin’s eyes meet his, Ichigo realizes that the other man already knows that.

“For a minute there, I thought you were going to just die and leave me all by my lonesome.” Gin muses, his fingers skating over Ichigo’s forehead. They don’t hesitate as they trace his estigma. “That certainly wouldn’t have been fun.”

Ichigo just stares up at him. He’s trying to distract him, trying to push his awareness away from the way he’s listing to the side, how his breaths come in tight wheezes. Gin is going to die a liar. 

“What did you do?” Ichigo asks. Gin drops his hand to circle Ichigo’s throat, his thumb following the scar that rings it. He exhales shakily.

“There’s nothing more we can do here. Aizen has destroyed everything. It leaves a rather nasty taste in my mouth, but I have to admit that Aizen has won.” Gin’s expression doesn’t change as he presses down with his hand, puts enough pressure on Ichigo’s neck to hold him in place as he struggles.

“What did you  _ do?”  _ Ichigo asks again, snarls, his remaining hand flying up to claw at Gin’s hand.

_ “Ichigo.”  _ Gin says, his voice suddenly drawn hard and tight. Ichigo freezes.

“It’s too late for us. It’s too late for this world, this Soul Society and Karakura town. Even with the Hogyoku we can’t fix that.” Gin’s hand lightens and his fingers sweep over the ridges of Ichigo’s trachea. He slumps forward until he’s almost curled over Ichigo.

“It’s not too late for you and for the  _ others.”  _ He whispers, eyes holding Ichigo in place better than any Kido. His hand disappears into the fold of his coat and withdraws clutching his Zanpakutou- the broken remains of it. And there, embedded into a cruel crack in the hilt, the Hogyoku pulses.

“It won’t be the same as this universe. Things will be quite different, but I’m sure you’ll find your way. You always did have such a creepy talent for landing on your feet.” Gin tells him, and Ichigo curses his blood loss as he tries to understand him. “Fix things for them. They won’t be ours, they won’t be the same, but they’ll still be alive.”

He doesn’t say it, but Ichigo hears  _ save Rangiku, save Izuru,  _ and he suddenly understands.

“Gin-” He says warningly, feels Zangetsu surge within him for a few precious drops of strength. Panic balloons in his chest as Gin presses his thumb against the Hogyoku. Another crack lances through the hilt.  _ “Gin-” _

The Hogyoku pulses and lights up. It brushes against his mind, purrs as it mingles with his reiatsu, slowly envelopes him like warm water. Gin stares down at him as if trying to memorize his face. The purple-blue glow sharpens his features, twists his ever-present smile until it’s unrecognizable. Everything is purple-blue and washed out like they’re sinking into the Hogyoku itself.

“Safe travels, Ichigo.” Gin says. He does nothing to wipe away the blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth. “Give the other me my condolences, would you? I feel quite bad inflicting you upon another reality.” 

Ichigo feels a thousand reaching hands catch him, drag him down and down and down, and it’s all he can do to grasp Gin and pull him to his chest. The surprised expression on his face is the last thing he sees; his eyes flinching wide, his mouth dropping open.

“I won’t leave you behind.” Ichigo says, even as reality warps around them. Blackness oozes up from his skin. He clutches Gin closer, curls around him, and feels Gin’s long fingered hand grip back at him just as tightly. 

They spiral through the abyss.

Somewhere along the way, Gin dies.

 

Dirt slips between his fingers and Ichigo drags himself upwards. He only has one hand to climb with, but something pushes him up, urges him along. He feels a sword-sharp smile and snarls. Gin had danced away at the last minute just like he always did. He can feel something like his reiatsu lingering inside the space of his Inner World, more an impression of him than anything, and it just serves to make him angrier.

His hand breaks through the soil and he struggles for a handhold. There is no grass, no roots for him to hold, and his head breaks into the open air with a twisted gasp. He kicks wildly and contorts himself until he can hitch a leg over the edge of the firm ground, bucks his body forward until he’s free to lay panting above the earth.

The air is so clean, so fresh- reiatsu saturates it in a way that makes Zangetsu purr, makes Ossan twitch awake from where he’s safely buried in Ichigo’s mind. He inhales deeply and presses his forehead to the ground, doesn’t stop the spasming of his hand as his fingers grasp at the dirt over and over again. 

He’s alive. He’s alive, and so is the world around him.  _ They did it.  _ Gin, the fucking bastard, was  _ right-  _ there was a world, a universe, where Aizen hadn’t had time to destroy and corrupt yet. He made it. 

“Who are you.” Someone says, voice flat enough that it’s not a question anymore, and Ichigo freezes. He knows that voice- knows the quiet control. The tip of Senbonzakura kisses the filthy shoulder of his amputated arm and Ichigo fights back the urges to laugh and cry both.

He gives himself a moment to feel out the spiritual pressures around him- recognizes so many, recognizes captains and lieutenants and others that he had watched die, one by one. There’s nuances, differences he cannot ignore, but Gin was right- they’re not  _ his,  _ but they’re still alive. That’s all that matters.

“Are you saying…” Ichigo wheezes, uses his only arm to leverage his head and chest up. His eyes meet the imposing grey he hasn’t seen in years. “That you don’t… recognize me… Byakuya?”

This universe’s Byakuya narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly. He’s different in spiritual pressure as well as appearance- his long hair is tied back in a simple braid, missing his captain’s haori and the Kuchiki hair adornments, but he still has his gloves and scarf. It’s close enough.

“You have not answered my question.” Byakuya says. Senbonzakura slips across his skin and presses into the fragile flesh of Ichigo’s throat, threatening a swift death, but Ichigo just lets his lips pull into a smile. He can taste the blood that no doubt stains his teeth. Byakuya is  _ alive,  _ and the flat look he sends towards Ichigo is so bittersweet and familiar that it aches. 

“This man needs medical attention.” Comes a tight voice, and it’s different in tone, but- Ichigo’s eyes flit to a figure similar to Captain Unohana’s. She’s more different than Byakuya had been: her hair is cropped short around her chin, a thick path of scar tissue spreading along her cheek and jaw. Her eyes are hard, though that is the same.

“This man is an unknown agent.” Byakuya says. He’s unwavering, but Ichigo can see the tension radiating out from his spine.

“This man is missing both an arm and a weapon.” Unohana snaps, and Ichigo turns his head at the hint of movement behind her. Jyuushiro-  _ a healthy flush to his cheeks, muscles filled out as they should be, dark hair bound back by twin braids into a bun- _ settles a calming hand on her shoulder and smiles at Byakuya.

“There are more than enough of us to handle him should he attack.” He reassures, and his reiatsu is enough to even let Ichigo relax. He had missed this more than he realized- the sweet, gentle sweep of Captain Ukitake’s spiritual pressure.

“We don’t know who he is or why he’s here.” Byakuya says, though he pulls his Zanpakutou away. Unohana drops to her knees beside him and doesn’t hesitate to maneuver him onto his back. Ichigo flinches from the touch- unused to anything but Gin and the kiss of pain in the midst of battle- but allows himself to remain in the vulnerable position. 

She ghosts her hands over his torn body and makes quick work of the sloppy bandages that remained. All he has in the way of clothes are a torn pair of hakama and ragged boots he had stolen from a dead body in the remains of the Seireitei. He realizes he feels almost numb, outside of the relief of finding a still intact world. 

Unohana’s breath catches as she moves the waistband, and Ichigo feels the brush of a familiar blade just as quick hands pull it away. She stares at the broken remains of Gin’s Zanpakutou and Ichigo sees the equally startled looks she shares with Captain Ukitake.

“We should bring him to Yamamoto.” He says, turning and motioning to the figures surrounding them. Two separate and bring over a stretcher, settling it onto the ground next to Ichigo before hesitating.

“I don’t bite.” Ichigo slurs, half-amused by their reticence to touch him. He supposes he is quite filthy- he finds it’s hard to get angry at any of them with the warmth in his chest. The two Soul Reapers glance at Unohana, uncertainty laid bare in their expressions, when Ichigo feels two hands settle softly on his shoulders.

“Byakuya, if you would be so kind as to take his feet.” Jyuushiro says. He slides his grip below his arms, careful to avoid the tourniquet around his left bicep, and lifts him onto the stretcher once Byakuya is ready. He can tell they were expecting him to be heavier- the two share a look over his body that he recognizes, but the numbness and hazy warmth dulls his thoughts enough that he doesn’t say anything.

Ichigo stares up at the blue sky- stares and stares and stares, even as his body jerks on the stretcher, even as Soul Reapers surround him on their march towards the center of the Seireitei. He had crawled out of the Sokyoku, it turns out- the journey down the stairs is both a single moment and eternity. Is this ironic? Ichigo is pretty sure he’s lost too much blood.

Another blink and he finds himself a building he’s never seen before. He can make out the curving rows of an amphitheater, a few seats already filled by his accompaniment, but the many people crouched over him obscure his vision.

“Please do not move.” A woman says, vaguely familiar, but Ichigo only has eyes for the people he sees between gaps in arms and shoulders.

There’s a flash of Shunsui’s pink kimono and then Byakuya’s long braid, the distinctive hum of Toshiro’s reiatsu. For a single moment the crowds part, and Ichigo’s eyes land on Unohana’s form, Shinso cradled in her hands, and in front of her-

Ichigo jerks up, ignores the shouted words from the healers around him, because the remnants of Gin’s reiatsu flared and  _ pulled  _ at the sight of this universe’s Ichimaru Gin. He too is different, his hair pulled away from his face in a long ponytail, a thick scar reaching from his temple down the side of his throat, but he’s still  _ Gin. _

A hand to his chest drives him back to the ground, the vaguely familiar woman leaning over him with stern eyes-  _ Isane,  _ his memory tells him,  _ Unohana’s lieutenant.  _ Did she always have her hair in the close cut around her face?

“You’re making my healers twitchy.” She says, waiting until Ichigo can fix his hazy eyes on her. He appreciates it. “Lay still or you’ll get stabbed,  _ again.” _ With that, she returns to healing the stump of his arm. Ichigo considers telling them there’s no need- as soon as Zangetsu has enough energy, he’ll just replace it- but instead goes back to scanning the room. No point revealing all of his cards just yet.

He spots vibrant red hair and feels his heart stutter. No,  _ no-  _ he hadn’t considered this, he hadn’t realized that-  _ of course  _ Renji would be here, assuming he’s still Byakuya’s 2nd seat, which means that Rukia will be here as well, and Rangiku and Izuru and Shuhei and- and all the people that took a piece of his heart with him when they died. He’s nauseous as well as conflicted- he wants to see them, wants to hold them so badly, but-

“Take your seats.” Comes Captain Yamamoto’s rumble, and the gathered people quickly settle down. The healers around him disperse and Ichigo glances around, notes the captains absent and the way everyone has a hand on their Zanpakutou. He heaves himself up, presses his hand to his chest and inhales deeply for the first time in a long time.

“We are here to discuss the appearance of this stranger on Sokyoku Hill.” Yamamoto says before turning his gaze to Ichigo. His seat is off to the side, able to view all of his Soul Reapers as well as keeping Ichigo in his line of sight. For a moment, Ichigo lets his eyes meet the Head Captain’s, lets his gaze hold long enough for the old man’s eyes to narrow dangerously. He drops them before anything comes of it and pushes himself backwards until he can lean against the curved wall at the front of the room and look at everyone gathered. He can  _ feel  _ the Kido they layered over him, feel the restraints and how every Soul Reaper here is on edge.

_ Just like old times,  _ he muses. Distrust never gets old, it seems.

“Identify yourself and why you have infiltrated the Seireitei.” Yamamoto demands once the silence has stretched on for a few moments. Ichigo tilts his head. His hair slides over his shoulder in blood-clotted clumps.

“I’m Ichigo.” He finally says. “Kurosaki Ichigo, Substitute Soul Reaper. And I ended up here largely by accident.” He ignores the startled mutters that break out, finding his gaze drawn back to Byakuya and-  _ Renji.  _ For a second he forgets everything except Renji, everything except the wild red hair pulled into the familiar ponytail- he still has the same tattoos, a headband, and Ichigo’s sight goes blurry as he drinks him in.

_ “Kurosaki.”  _ Yamamoto’s growl startles him enough to see the expression of confusion and maybe-panic on Renji’s face. He tears his eyes away and turns to face the old man again.

“How did you end up here  _ by accident.” _ He asks, and Ichigo’s hand goes to the stump of his left arm unwillingly. He’s sure that none of the Soul Reapers present missed the meaning behind that gesture.

“The Hogyoku.” Ichigo says. The room is suddenly very, very quiet. “I was sent here by the Hogyoku and- my friend.” Again, his eyes flit to Captain Ichimaru, who stares back at him with strange eyes. His hand is wrapped around the hilt of the Zanpakutou Ichigo carried with him.

“Are you an agent of Aizen?” Toshiro asks suddenly, breaking the silence of the room, and Ichigo can’t stop the way his lip curls and pulls back from his teeth in a snarl.

“I came here to kill him.” He says, his voice too loud and too angry- Ossan whispers for him to calm down, that getting angry will make it harder for him to think, but the idea of working with Aizen is- is-  _ repulsive.  _ He can feel Zangetsu suddenly flare, his viciousness fueling Ichigo’s rage.

“I came here to rip his heart out of his chest and  _ eat it.” _

There’s silence again, stunned and unsure, and Ichigo feels a growl rumble in his chest as many Soul Reapers continue to glare at him.

“If you do not work with Aizen, how could you come into contact with the Hogyoku?” Toshiro presses. Zangetsu hisses in fury but Ichigo reels himself back in painstakingly, digs his fingers into the raw, bandaged flesh of his left arm until he’s under control again.

“Where I’m from,” he says carefully, drops his head so his choppy bangs can cover his eyes, “I was one of the last people left fighting Aizen. My- friend stole the Hogyoku from him, and when we used it to try to  _ fix  _ everything, I ended up here.” As soon as he stops speaking shouted questions fill the air.

“Where is this “friend” of yours!”

“What do you mean, “where you’re from”?”

“What were you trying to fix!”

A slam of Captain Yamamoto’s staff ends the deluge, but he turns to Ichigo as if expecting him to answer them anyway. The many eyes in the room send Ichigo’s skin crawling, makes him feel like prey. He could manifest his Zanpakutou in under a second if he’s attacked but it doesn’t erase the caged feeling that grips his spine.

“My friend died before we reached this universe.” He says, fights back the tremble in his voice as he thinks of Gin. He hadn’t liked the man at all- had disliked him, in the beginning- but they had spent years together trying to kill Aizen, keeping each other alive. “I’m from a different reality where Aizen wins. Where he destroys everything, Soul Society and the world of the living and even Hell. We were trying to fix what Aizen had done.”

A disbelieving shout rings out- but movement draws the attention of everyone in the room as Captain Ichimaru stands. He slips into the aisle and ghosts towards Ichigo with the same unsettling grace that his Gin had had and comes to a stop a few steps from him. Izuru- with different hair, with a nose that has been broken at least once- reaches for him like he could pull him away.

“Is this the Zanpakutou of your friend?” Captain Ichimaru asks, carefully holding the broken hilt of Shinso. His voice is different- less lilting, less amused, but it’s close enough that it sends a shiver down Ichigo’s spine. He nods.

“You say that Aizen also exists in your universe, that he destroyed it.” Ichimaru continues. His head tilts to the side, eyes falling open just enough for Ichigo to see a hint of deadly blue, and asks “So who else was there?”

Ichigo’s stomach drops. He sees the shocked looks on some of the other’s faces- they hadn’t made it to the same conclusion yet, or hadn’t thought anyone else shared their ideas. Ichigo wouldn’t be surprised if Captain Ichimaru had guessed this the moment Unohana gave him a shattered blade that was a mirror of his own.

“Everyone.” He whispers. His eyes squeeze shut and he takes a deep breath. “All of you.”

Silence.

And then-

“Well, there’s a fairly easy way to prove or disprove what our guest is saying.” The voice is like nails down a chalkboard, raising Ichigo’s hackles and prompting him to pull in on himself defensively. From the corner, Captain Kurotsuchi stands.

“I have just the piece of technology that would be perfect in this situation.” He muses, moving from his seat to walk towards Ichigo, and- he doesn’t have the ridiculous head piece, or the face paint, but his  _ eyes _ are the same and he can’t bite back the panic welling in his chest as Kurotsuchi nears him.

“What does that mean, Captain?” Unohana asks. Her voice is falsely pleasant.

“I’ve developed an incredible piece of technology that allows the memories of an individual to be accessed and viewed by others.” Kurotsuchi near crows, his hands tucked into his sleeves and a grin on his face. Ichigo doesn’t even have to look at Yamamoto to know he’s going to agree, and he’s not disappointed. The room explodes into motion as they prepare.

He wants to fight it- he wants to snarl and bite, refuse to let any of the 12th division’s  _ technology  _ come anywhere near him, but he hesitates. It would be the easiest way to convince them, wouldn’t it? If they could just see- 

**_you’ll have to live through the memories all over again_ **

Zangetsu whispers, too close to the surface. He’s scared, he’s scared and furious, and underneath his roiling emotions Ichigo can feel that Ossan is just as against it as he is.  _ It’s the easiest way to convince them,  _ he snaps, suddenly angry,  _ the easiest way for them to work with me. You think I want to relive anything of that bullshit? No, I don’t. But I’ll do it a thousand times if it means I can save them just once. _

They quiet down, though they don’t try to conceal their feelings. Ichigo doesn’t mind. He knows that he’ll need them if he’s going to make it through this with his sanity intact.

“Kurosaki Ichigo.” Mayuri says, standing before him with her hands clasped neatly. Her eyes are just as dead as he remembers. “It will be best for you if you initiate recalling the memories. Once you begin, the technology will take over, and it will move from memory to memory seamlessly. This will occur regardless of your emotional state.” He spares her a nod.

Ichigo doesn’t look when they wheel whatever the technology is into the room. He lets his eyes close, lets them layer more and more kido over his body until he’s completely restrained. Hands touch him, attach wires and stick things on his head, and Ichigo can  _ feel  _ himself shaking, muscles trembling with stress as he holds himself still. There’s clicking, a flash of light that leaves spots behind his eyelids, and then quiet.

“We will begin now.” Kurotsuchi says. Ichigo’s stomach rolls violently and he can barely breath. His heart thunders in his chest.

**_we’re here we’re here we’re here just breath Ichigo just breath king_ **

Ichigo forces himself to take a deep breath and reaches back, reaches deep into his memory and grabs onto one from the day he first failed everyone.

 

_ Toshiro falls in a spiral of blood and shattered ice, his eyes wide and shocked- right arm and wing neatly severed, and _

_ Soi Fon cries out through gritted teeth, blood soaking her haori and her amputated arm bound in tight bandages, and _

_ Shuhei covered in the blood and gore of his former captain his eyes wide and unseeing as he rocks back and forth, and _

_ Kisuke, Yoruichi, his father whirling and dancing around Aizen-- _

 

The memory plays out in snatches for Ichigo. He tries to close his mind to it, tries to distance himself once he begins, but it’s too taxing. The next memory slips into place.

 

_ Aizen holding him around the throat and murmuring to him, digging his claws deeper and deeper into his chest, Kisuke’s blood splattered across the dry ground- _

_ Gin cutting Aizen in half with Shinso, Gin dragging Ichigo away from the convulsing body, Gin twisting his mouth into a sour grimace as Aizen rights himself with a laugh- _

 

_ Chasing Aizen across Karakura town, helpless as he guts all of his friends one after another Tatsuki Mizuiro Chizuiro Keigo and hangs their corpses, following a trail of heads and rotting organs as they try to track Aizen down and _

 

_ Karin and Yuzu’s mangled bodies and blood splattered across their room and screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming and _

 

_ A rampage through the Seireitei and Renji’s battle snarl not even fading in death and Rukia standing until the end and Byakuya’s corpse heavy in his arms and Shuhei wild and desperate as Kazeshini fights to protect and Ikkaku laughing as he’s gutted and Kenpachi smiling and headless and Hanatarou braver than anything Ichigo’s ever seen and  _

 

_ The world of the living cracking under his spiritual pressure and Jyuushiro’s chest punched through and the Vizored rallying again and Shinji dragging Ichigo upright and his father shielding him and Chad’s arm shattered and Uryu choking on his own blood and Orihime with wide unseeing eyes and  _

 

_ Gin curled over Rangiku’s body, Gin brushing Izuru’s hair from his bloodied face and _

 

_ The sands shift under his feet as Ichigo cuts another Hollow in half. He blocks a wild swing and ducks under its guard, neatly disemboweling it even as two move to take its place. Gin cries out and Ichigo spins, sees the claw embedded in his thigh even as the Hollow responsible turns to dust from a swift strike. He covers the ground between them in a blink and blocks a killing blow. The winds of Hueco Mundo howl and Gin darts under his upraised arms, Shinso singing as he extends- and then furious pain, a ring of fire around his neck and everything goes black for too long and Ichigo is all alone and he’s dying he can tell and he’s going to hell he’ll be bound up in chains and tortured forever alone in the dark and _

 

_ “Pull another miracle, kid,” Gin says, hands on his cheeks as he holds his severed head in place on his neck, “prove you’re a sin against the natural order, there you go,” and _

 

_ Gin running his fingers through Ichigo’s hair and tugging at his nose and bandaging him up and  _

 

_ His eyes burning his chest heaving Aizen cut off his arm where is his arm  _ **_Aizen cut off my arm_ ** _ and _

 

_ Gin’s lips pulled back in a feral snarl and Shinso not singing but screaming and Aizen glaring, Aizen laughing, Aizen smiling as he spreads his arms and wings and stands in the rubble of Paris, the rubble of New York City, Bangladesh Tokyo Moscow Karakura town and _

 

_ “Safe travels, Ichigo.” Gin says. He does nothing to wipe away the blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth. “Give the other me my condolences, would you? I feel quite bad inflicting you upon another reality.” and _

 

Ichigo vomits violently, retching and choking around the taste of blood and bile and the after images of his memories. Hands are at his shoulders, his hair, tugging him free of whatever is binding him and holding him up. His vision twitches and shudders and he finds he can’t move, can’t do much else but lay limp. He sees Karin and Yuzu, he sees the captains, he sees his own mutilated corpse-

“I’d well imagine that’s enough to prove what he says.” Gin says- not his Gin, not  _ his _ Gin- and there are murmurs of assent as the Kido restraining Ichigo falls away. Ichigo hits the ground and just lays there, unsure of where he is, when he is- Zangetsu and Ossan whisper to him, calm him, hold his limbs still until he can breathe again. They do all of the heavy lifting and push the memories back, press on them until they’re sealed away and all Ichigo is left with is the taste of bile in his throat and the smell of blood in his nose.

“Kurosaki,” Captain Ukitake says, and a hand smooths its way through his matted bangs. “I’m sorry you had to endure that for the sake of putting our minds to rest.”

Ichigo pries his eyes open and is unsurprised to have to blink through tears. Jyuushiro holds a cup of water out to him and helps him drink it, cradles his head in his hand when he starts trembling again. He can feel the stares of everyone present fixed firmly on him, but there’s nothing in him that can care. His chest feels hollowed out and empty. He feels numb.

There’s a disturbance by the door, a shuffling of bodies until a path is cleared to the center of the room where Ichigo lies, bloodstained and injured and filthy in front of a puddle of his own bloody vomit. Jyuushiro helps him sit up, keeps a steadying hand on him despite the mud and gore coating his skin, and Ichigo looks up to see his father staring at him with horror in his eyes.

“Dad?” Ichigo whispers. He’s barely aware of how badly his body is shaking.

His father steps back, face unsure and startled, and Ichigo realizes he’s wearing the haori of the captain of the 10th division. His heart feels as if it’s been dipped in ice. Did his father never meet his mother? Did they never have him, or Yuzu and Karin? Did his family never exist in this universe? Just when in time did he land?

“You look- just like Masaki.” His father says, eyes fixed on him, and Ichigo feels like a noose around his neck has loosened.

“Dad, I-” Ichigo starts to say, even though he doesn’t know how he’s going to finish that sentence. Captain Yamamoto interrupts him before he can continue.

“Captain Shiba, this is the intruder who was found at Sokyoku Hill. He claims to be from another reality in which Aizen destroys everything, and we have found reason to believe him after viewing his memories. In his universe, it appeared that you were his father, and your two daughters were his younger sisters.”

Ichigo freezes.

“Yuzu- and Karin, are they-?” He chokes out, and his father’s-  _ Captain Shiba’s  _ head whirls around to stare at him with piercing eyes. His hand drops to the hilt of his Zanpakutou.

“Move outta the way, old man, lemme see what all the buzz is about.” Someone says from behind Captain Shiba. And the problem is- the problem is, they knew each other for so short a time that Ichigo shouldn’t know his voice this well, and yet he  _ does _ . He knows that voice all too well.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez steps out from behind his father dressed in a shihakusho and a lieutenant's badge around his sleeveless bicep. His Zanpakutou sits in the same exact place that Pantera had once claimed.

Ichigo feels unconsciousness pull at his mind, fueled by stress, his injuries, and his emotional duress, and has never been happier to accept it with open arms.

His vision goes blessedly dark.


	2. the few smooth lines I come from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from "ancestral memory"  
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/150296/ancestral-memory
> 
> "Do you also stare  
> into the crankled dark absorbed by windows—  
> praying a deity of lost things might visit—  
> bloom your fingers at their ghosts?"

He wakes up slowly enough that he knows something is wrong.

Ichigo has to _fight_ to wake up, to push through the haze of sleep, and that’s all he needs to notice to know that he’s been drugged into sleeping. Anger and fear flares hot in his gut but he forces himself to relax seconds after tensing. The only person that could have done it would be Gin- and if Gin risked drugging him, that meant they were someplace safe enough for Ichigo to be out of commission for an extended period of time. They were someplace that was safe from Aizen.

He lets his reiatsu stretch out lazily, feels the room around him with a hazy mind. He catches on Gin’s reiatsu almost immediately and tangles his own into it, rolling onto his side to face him. His arm twinges in pain but he ignores it easily.

“What have I told you about drugging me into sleeping, Gin?” He mumbles, voice catching and slurring around the words. There’s a moment of silence afterwards, Gin’s reiatsu humming low and amused under his own, and Ichigo would never admit it but he _revels_ in this closeness, this comfort. His family had taught him comfort comes through touch, and Gin might be the only one left but that doesn’t make it any less _weird,_ and-

Ichigo freezes.

The reiatsu settled under his own like a warm, sleepy fox _is not Gin’s._

He launches himself backwards, calling Zangetsu to his hand as he clears the bed. His Zanpakutou materializes from under his skin and rips through the Kido that had been webbed over his body. Ichigo presses a hand to the wall behind him, Zangetsu held low and ready in front of him, and snarls a warning at the fake-Gin on the other side of the room.

“It seems you’ve forgotten, then.” Fake-Gin says, turning slowly to face him. He has the same eyes, the same mouth that curls into a smile even when it shouldn’t- but the hair, the scar, the reiatsu is all wrong, all strange, and Ichigo growls low in his throat. He lets his teeth sharpen, tells Zangetsu to be ready to form his mask-

And then he sees Shinso’s cracked, mangled hilt on the bedside table. And he remembers. 

The grief hits him hard enough he falls to his knees. Zangetsu clatters to the ground, his hands suddenly unable to grip anything, useless and sweat slicked against the floor. He _remembers,_ remembers Gin’s missing arm with the stump seared shut with Kido, remembers the raw smell of his intestines and the blood leaking from his mouth. He remembers falling into the Hogyoku, clutching Gin to his chest, remembers him slipping away as his form dissolved- because he was _dead_ , because _he died in Ichigo’s arms._ Just another person he couldn’t save, in the end.

He screams, and screams and screams, and Zangetsu and Ossan scream alongside him.

 

It takes him too long to drag himself back together. He has to fight the grief, has to push it down where the rest of his shattered heart is buried. He slowly reels his spiritual pressure back to a manageable level for other people.

“I’m sorry-” Ichigo gasps, suddenly remembering the other person in the room. His breaths come in short pants and he struggles to lift his head- but Fake-Gin is nowhere in sight. He hauls himself to his feet, knees unsteady and head pounding, and circles the bed with Zangetsu held in one numb hand. This reality’s Gin is leaning against the wall, panting and sweating from Ichigo’s spiritual pressure, and offers him a pale, shaking smirk.

“You have quite the terrifying presence there, young man.” He says, and Ichigo can’t hold back the strangled laugh-sob that bursts out of his chest, because his Gin would say the same thing.

He drops to the ground and lets Zangetsu disappear into the spirals of black that go up and down his arm. He slumps almost bonelessly against the bed and pulls his knees to his chest- at last noticing that he has two arms again. Ichigo makes a fist a few times and rolls his wrist around, unsurprised that Zangetsu managed to pull this off but still grateful. His Hollow snorts and wriggles around in his Inner World like a pleased cat, reminding him that he’s reattached his head before, so a new arm is nothing.

“You startled all of the healers when you grew that arm back.” Captain Ichimaru says. Ichigo glances up to see him smoothing out his haori with unshaking hands.

“My Hollow did it.” He says, a hand lifting to the ring of scar tissue around his throat. Captain Ichimaru lifts an eyebrow at the movement but doesn’t press, for which Ichigo is grateful. He saw the memory, after all.

“Where am I?” Ichigo eventually asks once they’ve both had time to settle themselves.

“One of the heavily sealed rooms on the outskirts of the infirmary.” Ichimaru answers easily. His bony fingers curl over his knees. Ichigo wants to grab them and hold them to his chest, wants to snap them one by one and peel the flesh from the bone.

“Captain Yamamoto made a decision?” Ichigo asks. His best guess is that, since he’s still alive, Yamamoto is going to use him to kill Aizen.

“It seems our Head Captain thinks you’d be useful in our war.” Ichimaru says, his lips curling into an innocent smile at the flat look Ichigo gives him.

“And you don’t?” He asks, already knowing the answer. Ichimaru smiles even wider, if that’s possible, without showing his teeth.

“I think you’re a few bad memories from gutting yourself with your own Zanpakutou,” Ichimaru says, his voice light with amusement. Zangetsu spits in fury, scratching and screaming at Ichigo’s Inner World, but he feels his lips twitch upwards.

“That’s definitely what it feels like, some days.” He mutters. Ichimaru hums in agreement.

Even though the reiatsu is different from his Gin, Ichigo finds himself relaxing. It’s hard not to when something so close to the only secure thing he had left in the world wraps around him. His breathing slows and evens out until he feels almost calm- as long as he ignores the wailing pit in his chest that Gin left when he died.

“So this was your Gin’s?” Ichimaru asks, and Ichigo glances up to see Shinso in his hand. There’s a pang in his heart that isn’t for Gin, this time. Shinso had been so strong. He had met Gin’s Zanpakutou a few times; a massive, beautiful snake with scales like cool slate. He had been more honest and straightforward, more inclined to kindness than his wielder.

“Shinso almost killed Aizen more than once.” He says, reaches out until he can trace the edge of the hilt. “I think Aizen was more afraid of him than my Zangetsu.” 

He feels the pressure of Captain Ichimaru’s eyes on him, notices the careful way he cradles the ruined blade in his hand. What does it feel like, Ichigo wonders, to hold the shattered remains of part of your soul in your hand, and yet not _your_ soul? Does it feel like a premonition, like a promise from the future? Or does it feel like missing a stair in the dark only to land safely on the one below?

“A number of captains and their lieutenants will be stopping by soon to speak with you.” Ichimaru says after a period of silence. Ichigo isn’t surprised. There had been plenty missing from his “memory screening,” and there will undoubtedly be talk of his role in the fight. He hopes someone will fill him in on what exactly is going on in this reality.

“There’s a shower in that room, if you would like to clean up. The healers sponged you down but I suspect it’s been a while since you washed.” Ichimaru adds, as if an afterthought, and Ichigo feels his lips curl upwards again. It certainly has been a while.

He leaves the captain on the floor and takes his time with the shower. There’s a number of toiletries, all pleasantly scented, and for a while Ichigo just curls over his knees under the warm spray. It’s been years since his last shower, surely. Years since he knew the date, actually- how old is he now? He feels old. Too old for his age.

Eventually Ichigo feels the trickles of powerful reiatsu through the door, feels the coil and shift of several people in the room just next to him, and he turns off the shower with a sigh. His hair hangs below his waist now that it’s detangled and clean of blood and gore and Ichigo let’s his skin air dry as he brushes it out and braids it.

A clean hakama and sleeveless kosode are folded on the small bench outside of the shower, and Ichigo dresses in fresh clothes for the first time since the world ended. He can’t help but smooth his hands over the fabric, run his fingers along the folds and marvel at the feeling against his skin. He’s gotten used to wearing dead men’s clothing.

There’s a spike of irritation in the reiatsu in his room and Ichigo has to stifle a laugh, because he _recognizes_ that feeling- even as a shinigami, Grimmjow is still the same. There’s others, more that taste just a little bit off from what he remembers. Captain Ichimaru, yes, with Kira, and then there’s Soi Fon, Matsumoto and Hitsugaya, his father- _Captain Shiba,_ Grimmjow, Captain Kuchiki, and Renji.

Ichigo catches his reflection in the mirror and startles himself. He hasn’t seen what he looks like since- since a long time ago, and he meets his reflection’s eyes with a sick twist in his gut. He still looks like himself, even with the broad stripe of his estigma down his face and the one hollow eye. He has lots of new scars- perhaps the most noticeable is the thick strip around his throat, but there’s the one that rips through his ear, the other one that took his still-human eye before Zangetsu replaced it, the one that cuts across the corner of his mouth and up to his cheek. 

If someone from his timeline, his _reality_ saw him, would they recognize him? He’s older, yeah, scarred and worn down, his cheeks and eyes hollowed from too little reitsu and other food, but it’s still him. Maybe, maybe not. He’ll never know because everyone in his reality is dead.

  Suddenly fed up with himself and his thoughts, Ichigo turns from the mirror and opens the bathroom door- and freezes, because his little infirmary room is filled with people. They’re leaning against the wall or sitting in chairs they must have brought from outside.

“Fuckin’ finally.” Grimmjow mutters, eyeing Ichigo critically from his corner, and Ichigo returns his gaze. Grimmjow looks almost the same- instead of blue hair it’s blonde, he’s in the uniform of a soul reaper, and maybe-Pantera sits on his hip- but the brilliant eyes aren’t shadowed by hate and obsession, the lips aren’t pulled into a grimace or snarl. It’s all Grimmjow without the rot of a hollow.

Ichigo leans against the doorway of the bathroom and looks over the other captains and lieutenants gathered. It’s all too many familiar faces with just a few things different; it’s like walking into your room to find all the furniture moved a few inches to the left. It’s jarring, stomach turning, and Ichigo wishes- he wishes for so, so many things in this moment.

“You’re from another reality.” Soi Fon says flatly. Ichigo looks over at her blankly. He hadn’t expected them to take to the concept like swimming, but he really, really is not in the mood to play convincer. The room goes silent for a few long beats. Ichigo is too happy to just stare them down- he doesn’t need them to kill Aizen. If they aren’t going to work with him, he’ll just break out at his first chance and do what he needs to.

“Captain Yamamoto has told us we’re to work with you, so we will be.” Hitsugaya says, waves his hand at Soi Fon’s irritated noise. “How do your goals match with ours?”

“I’m going to kill Aizen.” Ichigo says. Someone snorts, and Ichigo isn’t that surprised to look up and see Grimmjow with an incredulous look on his face.

“You couldn’t kill him before, and you think you can now?” He asks, folds his arms tightly over his chest. Ichigo waits out Zangetsu’s furious hisses.

“Since this world is still standing, I’m guessing Aizen hasn’t figured out the Hogyoku yet.” He says. “I’m also not the only person fighting him anymore, and I’m a lot healthier than I was in my world.”

“What makes you think you’re healthier here?” Byakuya asks. Ichigo very carefully does not let himself look over at him and Renji.

“Well, I have my arm again, to start.” Ichigo says- is it his fault that he’s a little short on patience? “The air hasn’t been drained of reiatsu either. I’ll have access to real medical care and food.”

“If there was no reiatsu or food in your world, how did you survive?” Soi Fon asks sharply. Ichigo fights the urge to bare his teeth at her and mostly succeeds.

“I ate Hollows when I had to.” He snarls, and watches most of the room take a step back.

“You ate Hollows?” Captain Shiba asks incredulously, and- and oh, does that _hurt._

“I’m part Hollow.” Ichigo says shortly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I consumed parts of my own reiatsu when I had to, and when I couldn’t subsist on that, I hunted down Hollows and ate them.”

The atmosphere of the room is tense and thick. He can feel how the captains reach out to brush him with their reiatsu- it’s in silk tendrils, brushes of petals, bristling fur, the cold gleam of a knife. He sits perfectly still and lets them have their fill of the edge of his reiatsu they can feel.

“Prove it.” Grimmjow says shortly. Ichigo can’t help but smile a little at the challenge in his voice, and Grimmjow glares at him. “Something funny?”

“You’re just like the Grimmjow in my world.” Ichigo says, and feels a curl of satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on his face. Ichigo shrugs and brings his hand up, fingers spread, and pulls at Zangetsu until he can feel the clay sloughing from his skin and flowing into his mask.

It’s been beaten up over the years; it’s chipped in spots, scuffs and scars littering it, but the estigma lines perfectly with the one on his face. He supposes he could have summoned his horns- but that’s a bit much, maybe.

He drops his hand and leans against the wall, and there are three zanpakutou pressed under his chin before he can take another breath. Matsumoto, Kira, and Soi Fon all meet his eyes with cold, even looks.

“Grimmjow asked for proof.” Ichigo says evenly. The hissing warble is still there in his voice, even after years of being part Hollow. It’s a little more pronounced since his head was cut off.

“You mean Lieutenant Jeagerjaquez.” Captain Shiba says, just as evenly, and Ichigo lifts his head until he can meet his-father-not-his-father’s eyes.

“He was a Hollow- an Espada, actually- to me.” Ichigo says. “And you were my father.”

And of all his skills, Ichigo will admit he’s never been particularly gifted in the realm of working with people. The three blades under his chin press harder, closer, as if they could pierce his skin- as if.

“I think that aggression is quite unwarranted.” Ichimaru says. Matsumoto and Kira both immediately relax, but Soi Fon takes a few moments longer to pull away.

“Say, Captain,” Ichigo says, not trying to keep his voice down. “Where’s Shihoin? And Kisuke? And Captain Komamura?”

Soi Fon recoils violently, taking several swift steps back, and Ichigo spreads his hands as several blades slip from their sheathes.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Ichigo spits, and the snarl his voice comes out in reminds him he’s still wearing his Hollow mask. “But I’d like to find all of my friends, make sure they’re alright, and go kill Aizen.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Kurosaki.” A voice says from the doorway, and that- Ichigo feels his entire spine go tight and his mask shatters without a second thought, startling the others around him. He turns his head and meets the eyes- the _eye_ of Urahara.

“You’re-” He starts to say, his voice hoarse, and Urahara flicks his fan open- his fan, how Ichigo’s missed that stupid fucking fan- but Ichigo doesn’t miss how his eye crinkles at the corner.

“Yes, I’m alive. Not your friend, of course, but the details aren’t so important to you, now are they?” He asks, leans against the door and twirls his cane in his hand, and Ichigo can’t help but laugh and pass a shaking hand under his eyes.

“Yoruichi?” He asks, and Urahara hums.

“As alive and ferocious as usual.” He says.

“Now, I understand you all want to check over young Ichigo’s story here yourselves; however, I urge you to reconsider. He’s been fighting for his life for several years now as his friends and family die around him.” Urahara says. His voice isn’t quite reprimanding, but it’s slipping into a tightness that Ichigo had long ago learned to avoid.

And it’s this- it’s this that Ichigo has missed, for however long since all his friends died: he’s missed having someone to back him up. He’s been fighting on his own or with near strangers for so long that it’s almost a painfully bittersweet feeling to have someone stand up for him.

He wants them all back, of _course_ he does. If he could get Chad, Uryu, Orihime- even the members of the Seireitei, his _fucking sisters_ he would- he doesn’t know what he’d do, but it would definitely involve a lot of crying and apologies. He wants so much that he thinks he might go insane with it, wants so, so badly he’s almost sick with it.

“Since you’re fully recovered, I think it’s time we return to the front lines, no?” Urahara asks, snaps his fan shut over the sound of several protests. “There are a few people there eager to meet you, after all.”

And that- if this universe’s Urahara is suggesting what he thinks he is, then yes, it is time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my new tumblr username is @kukurosaki
> 
> this is a short, awkward chapter cos its been half finished for a long time. im gonna finish my other bleach fic and work on another before i devote time to the next chapter of this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by the fic zenith (which is strictly a time travel fic, and a beautiful one at that. please give it a whirl) and i thought to myself "what do i enjoy fucking around with more than time travel? reality travel" and so this was born.
> 
> this is completely a fun little side project. i have no idea how long its gonna be, where its going other than a vague idea, and no idea how often itll update. there isnt gonna be a schedule. i have 2 other projects im currently working on, so those will hopefully take precedence.
> 
> my tumblr is @gaybirdkid


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